Our Last Chance
by LuckieShuyin
Summary: Sucked into the sky away from his home, a young man embarks in a quest against an ancient evil, an immortal menace that terrorises everyone with just a whisper of it's name, and what he will find will be friendship, love, and courage A written chronicle


**Final Fantasy X: Our Last Chance**

Prologue

The sun set behind the sacred ruins of Zanarkand, casting an orange glow on the hills, but not the sort of orange that made you think of cheery beaches at sunset, or of the beautiful flowers of Kilika. This shade of orange was the dark orange of fire that drowned the hope from your once loving heart, the dark orange of the flames of hell where those condemned to eternal punishment would burn mercilessly in the orange tongues of a cruel beast called "Fate".

Slowly the light from the sunset faded behind three objects, a long, ocean blue sword which was stuck into the ground vertically, red and yellow ribbons hanging from it, hoping to blow in a non-existent breeze. This blue sword was called The Brotherhood and had been a gift given from the same man to two different people. Usually The Brotherhood would glimmer proudly in the sun, but, now, it looked like a monument in front of a grave in a cemetery.

In front of the sword leaned a long staff, which was propped up against the sword diagonally to the right to stop it from falling over. The top of the staff was a golden circle with three pieces of gold twisted into the shapes of teardrops passing through the circumference of the outer circle and a circle where the main length of the staff entered the shape on the end, which was also where the three teardrop shapes came together. Where the staff joined the circle a short length of silver joined the main body and the decorative end together, going along to form a long blue pole of metal, which flowed, into brown. At the very end of the staff hung a length of silver string, and from this string hung a small, round bell made of gold.

Resting in front of the staff and the sword was a small ball known as a Blitzball. This ball was completely white except for the blue band around the middle and its spherical shape was broken by small semicircular bumps all around the edges. Like the staff and the sword, the Blitzball didn't represent the joy and happiness it's sport usually brought…it, too, looked dead and useless.

Behind the three weapons seven figures were sat huddled around a fire, the youngest of which was only fifteen years old. This girl was blond of hair and pale of complexion with green eyes that spiralled from the centre outwards, showing the Al Bhed origin of her genes. Over her chest and back she wore an orange shirt that was joined on both sides by three black buckles, with black strips of leather strengthening the fastenings. From the back of this shirt two long strips of blue material trailed down her back, decorated by white patterns that were sewn on by a skilled Al Bhed craftsman. This shirt cut of just before her flat stomach, which was soon met by green shorts that hung of her hips, attached only by the orange belt that was attached to the top of the shorts. Just under her shorts this girl wore a circular black metal support, which had a small, black bag, useful for carrying grenades and other useful items buckled to it. Her feet were covered by boots that rose up to her knees, white in colour except for the brown rings at the top, the brown covering her foot and the green cross designs at the front. On her right arm she wore a long detached sleeve of orange cotton ending in a brown glove, attached to which was a metal claw.

Next to this blond girl sat a woman dressed almost entirely in black. From her bust down she wore a black dress that trailed the floor at the back. From the floor up to her hips, on the front of her dress, the material parted to form a design of many inter-crossing black belts, with a small gap at the top, showing the ending of an intricate, black, silk stocking with a flowery lace design. This design was repeated along the bottom of her dress, across the top of the belts and along the bottom of the sleeves, which were wide around the hands, tightening inwards as they reached the top of the dress. Across the top of the dress, covering her bust was a length of fake fur, a creamy colour that almost matched her complexion. Falling down from her neck were three necklaces varying in lengths, designs and colour, and her hair was all drawn into a bun at the back of her head except for on section of her fringe that fell down her face with the grace of a gentle waterfall. The bun was attached to the back of her head by two decorative supporting pins and, from the bun; four long and thin plaits cascaded down her back.

The black clothed woman was sat next to a red headed man to whom the Blitzball belonged. He wore yellow trousers that attached to an orange shirt by two strips of yellow material. On the trousers were six cross designs formed by thin pieces of brown string, ending in silver buttons and on his feet he wore green sandals. The orange shirt split across his toned stomach and was also decorated with cross designs, but these were vertical and blue cloth was used instead of thin, brown string. His hair rose up in a long orange spike and has a blue bandana passing in front of it. He had a small design of crossing black material on his right arm, which spread, from wrist to elbow, and his left arm was covered in many intricate pieces of fabric.

Next to the red head an older, grey haired man was sat with whatever dignity a man facing a great loss could sit. His long, red coat falling to the ground, a great contrast to the orange the sunset had cast on the ground. The coat fell away from the black trousers the usually covered and his large, grey collar guard hid his floor intentioned face.

Next to him was a beautiful young woman, who sat gazing into the fire, wishing it would swallow her up and take away her pain. Her detached sleeves resting in the folds of the long blue skirt she wore over her legs. The whiteness on the sleeves, and her intricately folded top reflected the innocence of her soul, and the yellow of the bow that supported the top reflected the beauty of her years. Her mismatched eyes of blue and green contrasted the brown hair that fell to her shoulders, framing her face in the same way wood frames a picture of beauty.

On the other side of Rikku a large blue beast by the name of Kimahri hunched towards the fire and in between him and Yuna, sprawled on the ground, was a young, blond, boy of seventeen, whose ambitions lay beyond the feeling of misery that were trapped inside of him.

Un able to sit still any longer the blond boy heaved himself lazily to his feet and turned from the fire, turned from the pain that consumed all seven of them, towards the ruins of the sacred city of Zanarkand.

The boy began walking towards a small hillside where he could overlook the ruins, but as he passed Yuna he was distracted by the grief that was mirrored from her heart and onto her face.

He gently put his hand onto her shoulder, and as she turned her head to face him he whispered, "I love you…" She nodded and looked back at the fire, that was enough, just to know his feelings was good enough.

The blond boy released her shoulder and climbed the small slope with long strides, longing to turn away from the others, and as he turned, his eyes fell upon the ruins of Zanarkand.

The pain in the boy's heart only grew when his eyes found the city he had been waiting to see, and had to see, with his own eyes…their journey was over.

Slowly he made his way back to the others, and sat with them again, re-claiming his space in the circle, then he spoke, not knowing whether he was speaking to them, or to himself.

"Listen to my story." He said slowly, capturing the gaze of the others, "This may be our last chance."

END OF PROLOGUE


End file.
